Carry on, wisdom, as if eye teeth depended,
floss, floss, don't let them fit you for insane.
Lips make a purse, spit out
the Jolly Rancher,
get on your bike again.
Rotten molars,
a hail of bullets. My hygienist is buying
an assault rifle on time.
It’s what you've got
to take, entropy and a flask of fluoride
in the jockey box, you’ve got to talk
to the voice at the Drive Through
like an old uncle who's very, very fond of you
yet worried, with a nervous smile. A Check Up
would ease the mind, as crack
on a sidewalk, numbing the gums
come on hummer: hurry up twelve speed,
live the youth before they yank it now
sit up, sit up and spit
the wind for what it does to fears, rippling
tall grasses in summer, the distant rumble
of helios, hogs and choppers.
I say, hang
a hard left here at the light, you begin
to understand, all right, too much, fruit
smoothie on such a beautiful day,
countenance bright
as any dime, a little bell on
the handlebar, you work it
like a Water Pic: it’s a laugh,
it's a gas,
and it's going away.
